Nine Lives
by FandomsForeva
Summary: Keith and Lance live nine times. Each time, it becomes easier to tolerate each other. Maybe.
1. Kester and Lugos

1\. Kester and Lugos

Keith fought for honor and for his lord, not for himself, and while he tried to keep his mind on the future and on the glory he would bring himself, sometimes it was hard to rationalize his own actions. The stink and sweat of the battlefield that brought tears to his eyes, the deafening clank of swords around him and of his own armor, the bodies that lay on the ground—they all simply served to remind him that the field of battle was not the field of glory and the Lord, but a place of death. He wondered how many of the men here would really rest upon the bosom of the Lord when their spirits left their bodies.

Then he pulled himself together. He would get nowhere by thinking of the metaphysical. What mattered was what he could see through his visor and what he could feel beneath himself: the energy of the horse that was his closest friend. The visor bounced up and down, and he imagined ripping it off and riding into the fight with his helm alone.

"Easy," he muttered to the horse that wanted to break into a gallop. He brought the horse into a canter and made a circle, looking for those that wore the colors of his lord's enemy. He spotted one such man across the field, wild'y riding on his mount, loose and fast. "Let's do this."

Keith rode at the rider in blue, holding his lance straight, aimed for the rider's chest. If he could just unseat the man, then it would be near impossible for him to rise again without any aid. All of this armor could make it hard for a man to regain his footing. But the rider kicked his horse and galloped out of the way, and Keith rode by. Angrily, Keith made a turn on his horse, and when he did, the rider in blue was waiting for him, lance outstretched.

Keith couldn't see another option. He straightened his own lance, aiming for the other rider. Either of them could have hit the other. Both of them could have gone to the Lord. But neither happened. The other rider's horse simply reared up. The rider's lance aimed into the air far above Keith's head, and Keith's lance hit the horse's belly and made a tremendous crack. The horse went down, crushing the rider beneath it, and began wildly kicking. Keith, feeling victorious, maneuvered his own horse around the kicking legs.

The rider in blue hadn't stood a chance against Keith's superior skills. He could be as wild and fancy as he wanted, but Keith had the real talent and control when it came to riding a horse, and that was why he would always win against an untrained idiot—

And then Keith's horse buckled under him. Keith rolled, sliding down the neck of the beast and onto the hard, bloody battlefield.

He was still for a moment, and then rocked side to side until he was able to roll onto his front. He tried to push himself up, his own body refusing to obey him under the weight of the armor. Keith tore off the helmet, and that allowed him to rise. He stumbled towards the horse, desperately trying to balance, and knelt to feel for breath. There was none. Instead, an arrow was buried in Keith's horse's throat.

A sense of bereavement hit him. That horse had been his best friend, the thing in the world that he could most trust. Red clouded his vision as he looked at the archers that had taken to the field. And then the rider in blue managed to rise from the remains of his own steed. Keith heard an excited laugh of victory and joy.

 _Him._ That man's side had killed Keith's steed. Keith growled as he drew his sword, charging the cocky knight before remembering that he had no helmet.

The other knight drew his sword, and their blades clashed, sparks flying off. Keith went on the offensive, swinging for the left shoulder, a blow that was blocked and forced down. Keith separated their swords and stabbed again, this time at the throat, where there was a chink in the armor where the helm met the gorget. The other knight brought his sword around the front and block the blow, stabbing at Keith.

Keith moved his arms, but he wasn't fast enough, and the blow struck him in the throat. He screamed in agony, every nerve in his body on fire. He could feel the warmth of his own life leaving him. It was a horrifying sensation.

But he was a man that fought for glory and his lord, and he stabbed upward as he fell to his knees. The Lord had guided his blow, because it struck the other knight, and he sunk to his knees, clutching at himself.

Keith's vision went dark.

 _In 1306 two righteous men killed each other for glory, independence, and their lords._


	2. Klaes and Liborio

This summer was a warm one. The air hung in soupy globs and all the wind did was stir it around. It was a summer of easily sparked fights and boiling tempers.

It was a summer of blood, a summer of hate, a summer of regret.

But first and foremost, it was the summer Lance turned sixteen and, in his mind, truly was a man. It wasn't as though he had changed since the night before when he was fifteen, but he had the title of being sixteen and as such was at least ninety percent better than before.

So he was sixteen, and with that came the cocky overblown arrogance of the typical teenage boy, as it usually did with boys from all ages.

Lance studied at school. He knew his arithmetic and his letters, and he also knew that he hated Keith with a burning passion. A passion only intensified by the slow heat of the summer.

It wasn't as though he had a specific reason for hating every fiber of Keith's being, it just happened. He had walked into the classroom on the first day, tapped his boot on the worn wooden floor, looked around the room, focused on Keith, and felt an inexplicable hate towards him. Being only seven, he went along with it.

It started slow. Schoolyard taunts, throwing quills at each other. It escalated slowly, too, until Lance found himself punching Keith straight in his perfect teeth at the age of twelve, not being quite sure how it reached that point.

Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that they were rival families. Maybe their mutual hatred had been bred into them, so they had no choice but to dislike each other. Either way, it had led to this moment.

This moment, standing a few feet apart, boots digging into the cobblestones with the heat of the sun beating down on them.

Lance felt sweat trickle down his back, his tunic sticking to him already.

"Lance, we should go inside." Hunk urged from somewhere to his left.

"I can't, Hunk." Lance felt determination course through him, knowing that what he was doing, where he was standing—it was all fate, he was destined to do exactly what he was planning to do.

Keith, standing opposite him, looked a mess. He was squinting against the bright light, forehead shiny with sweat. His fingers were shaking at his side.

Lance froze in his place. He felt as though he was there, but his mind was somewhere else. Was this what he was meant to do? He felt a cold shiver run through him, a stark contrast to the heat of the air surrounding him, as though someone had walked over his grave.

He refocused on Keith in front of him.

"Draw your sword, Kogane." Lance hissed, gripping the hilt of his own blade.

Keith narrowed his own eyes and spit on the ground in front of him. "The day I take a command from a McClain will be the day I die." Nevertheless, he drew his own sword, fingers tight around it.

Lance's face twisted in anger. He thrust forward, aiming his sword at the spot between two of Keith's ribs. Keith quickly parried the blade, twisting it away from him and making a jab at Lance's side.

Lance grunted from the effort of dodging the shot, spinning around to again make a move on Keith.

They went back and forth like this, jabbing and parrying and stabbing. The heat of the sun continued to blaze down on them, their tunics sticky and sword handles slick with sweat.

Lance could see the exhaustion in Keith's eyes, and could feel himself beginning to weaken. He considered what it would be like to just give up, to drop his sword and let himself fall to Keith's mercy.

He shook himself back to reality. Keith was a Kogane, and Lance a McClain, and there was no way in hell or heaven that he was going to lose his life to a damn Kogane. He pushed forward with new vigor, gloating at Keith's panicked expression as he attempted to continue to fight back.

Lance knew Keith's fighting patterns. Of course he did, as they had been going to school together for nine years. He knew how used both his left and right hands with equal skill, but also knew that he was weaker in his right arm. If Lance could incapacitate his left arm, he would have a better chance of beating him.

 _And killing him_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Lance shook his head. There was no reason to feel any regret about the death of a Kogane.

He focused his efforts on Keith's left arm, quickly being able to draw blood. Keith was forced to switch hands, wincing from the pain in his left arm. The red blood was stark against the dusty cobblestone.

Finally seeing an opportunity, Lance lunged forward to in between Keith's ribs, meeting his eyes just as he made contact.

Keith's eyes went wide, wider than he'd ever seen them before. He had a vulnerability to him then, a rush of fear flowing through him that was suddenly visible to Lance.

Lance faltered, attempting to yank his sword back.

"Keith—"

He was stopped by the slash of a sword across his throat and dropped to the ground.

"Never speak my name, McClain." Keith swayed above him, bloody hand to his side.

Was this how it would end? A cut to the throat and Keith looming above him? At least he was blocking out the sun.

But no, that was not how it would end. Because Keith swayed and swooned, landing next to Lance. With his last bit of strength, he turned his head to face him, making eye contact with Keith one last time.

They were dragged back to their family homes, each of them expiring within another week from the diseases that surrounded their wounds. The world was not changed for it.

 _In 1456, two rival men killed each other in the name of their families._


	3. Kenton and Lawrence

Keith couldn't believe that he had been put on prison duty. He was so much better than this! He was a good soldier, a good fighter. He should have been with the other men, preparing for battle, rather than watching the few prisoners that they hadn't been able to ship off yet.

Especially with such an...obnoxious prisoner as the one they had today. Keith would have liked to sock him in the jaw. It would have been satisfying to wipe that annoying smile off of the prisoner's face. In fact, it was really as though he was _trying_ to provoke Keith.

"Why aren't you with your friends?" the prisoner asked again. "C'mon, you can leave. We'll be good."

"Shut your mouth," Keith growled again.

"How rude," the prisoner said with a damned American accent that let Keith know he was a Tory. "I've been nothing but nice to you, and yet you treat me like this. Really, what did I do to deserve this treatment?"

Keith bit back a retort and took several deep breaths. He had spent the years of war, both the French-and-Indian and the War-of-Independence, learning to control himself and his emotions. He had been in Charleston for a while, being educated by the best American and British schools that there were. He had been on the Appalachian Frontier, contemplating the meaning of his existence until Ma had tanned him in punishment for not doing his chores. And he had been part of the army for long enough to know that snapping was never a helpful thing to do.

The Tory went on taunting him, cracking stupid jokes and making snide comments like he needed to speak all of his life's words before dying, or at least before being shipped off to Reading. Keith imagined a future where the prisoner wasn't here, and was dealing with uptight Pennsylvanians. The Tory certainly wouldn't fare well up there.

"And I'm Lance," the Tory chattered. "What's your name? I don't think I got it."

"I didn't say."

And then the Tory—Lance—was off on another tangent about how rude Keith was being, how Lance would like nothing more than to be under the sky once again, how he had grown up in Atlanta and how the weather near Germantown was nowhere near as nice, and how Keith was really an uptight bastard who obviously had no idea how to have fun.

"Shut up," Keith warned him again.

"Aw, are you going to hit me if I don't? Stab me? Shoot me? I thought that the whole thing with you Americans was that you treated your prisoners better than the Crown does."

"We're all Americans," Keith snapped. "You're a Georgian, in case you forgot."

"Yeah. A Georgian. A _King_ Georgian."

"That was one of the worst segues I've ever heard."

"Well, you don't look like you have any experience with humor, conversation, or culture, so I'll take it as educating you."

"Don't test me."

"Hey, maybe if you address me by my name, I'll be less annoying to you."

"No."

"Aw, you're no fun."

If Lance thought that war was supposed to be fun, than he had another thing coming. Keith didn't understand anything about him. How he could support Great Britain, that damned empire, especially while being from the Americas himself. How he could be so talkative and sarcastic when facing death or prison camp. How he had managed to stay so childish during a war.

"You really have no idea what life is like," Keith mused over Lance's endless stream of words.

Lance fell silent, and then spoke again. "I do. You can't really live in this world and not understand. Anyway, I'm a man, as much of a man as you. We can't be two years apart."

"Don't remind me."

Lance gave a sour grin, hatred clear in his eyes. Keith knew that Lance was probably wishing death upon him a thousand times, which was alright, because Keith was wishing the same thing. He didn't care that the Bible said not to be malicious. The Bible also said not to kill, and here they were. He briefly wondered if Lance was still Anglican or if he, too, had left the Church of England. Neither option would save his soul, which was damned to hell for being a murderer and a traitor to boot.

Then again, Keith was probably going to hell as well. He wasn't going to deny the fact, as afraid of it as he was. He just hoped that he dragged down all of the Tories with him. It was the least that he could do.

"Kogane!" Keith heard the voice of the captain ring out, and giving one last glare to Lance, he stood to leave the tent. He felt something strike him on the back and quickly turned. Lance had spat at him, and now, he grinned sarcastically. Keith's jaw worked, but he calmed himself and left the tent.

In the end, their differences didn't matter so much, because both armies were ruthless and terrified and the prison tent at Camden didn't provide much cover from flying bullets, but neither did Continental uniforms worn proudly.

 _In 1780, two men died fighting for their ideals and waiting for freedom._


	4. Kian and Lucas

Lance winced as he picked his way into the mine.

 _Day 42 of hell_ , he thought to himself. Whatever God had cooking up for him behind the pearly gates had nothing on this.

He coughed as he stumbled down to his assigned location, feeling the ever-present layer of coal dust settling thickly in his lungs and on his skin. The day he didn't have to work there anymore would be a blessed day, if the coal dust didn't kill him first.

He smirked to himself. Wouldn't that be a strange way to go.

He supposed he had hopes and dreams for the future. He had things he wanted to do and see (for example, punch Keith and go to Paris. In that order exactly). It was weird to think about how that could all be gone in one explosion. One mislit cigarette, one dropped lantern. Who knew what kind of gases were mingling around with the coal dust in the air.

He contemplated this as he walked deeper into the mine, not knowing if the creaking of the wooden supports above him were imagined or not.

He'd been working with the same troupe of people for the past few weeks, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he was with Hunk and Pidge, a curse because he was with Keith.

It was also a curse because they were very far down. As demand for coal increased, so did the danger of mining it. Their current stakeout was flooded with at least three inches of freezing cold groundwater, something that did nothing to improve the already shoddy at best conditions.

Lance hoisted his pickaxe up over his shoulder as he reached the vein of coal he'd been working at yesterday. The mine was filled with the sound of metal hitting metal, metal hitting stone, and the ever-present unidentifiable hissing sound. People were saying it was firedamp, something that scared the hell out of Lance to even consider. It made him scared to swing his pick at all for fear of giving off a spark and setting the whole place ablaze.

And it would be truly shitty to die with Keith, who worked a vein next to him.

Speaking of—

"Hey, Lance." Keith stomped his way to his place.

"Hey, Keith."

That was generally all their interactions amounted to on a day-to-day basis. A curt hello, a muttered goodbye, a silence in between filled only by the mutual clanging of their pickaxes.

Lance wasn't sure why exactly he hated Keith so much. It likely had something to do with the fistfight they'd had on their first day at the job a month and a half ago, but you really couldn't be sure.

Today, though, Lance broke the silence.

"What do you want to do after this?"

Keith poked his head out from his hole, "Sorry?"

"Like, when we're done in the mines."

Keith's brow furrowed. "Why are you talking to me?"

Lance turned away defensively. "Jeez, never mind I guess."

"No, I just—we never really talk is all."

"That's fair. I guess we just don't like each other that much."

"Either way, I bet that I can mine more than you," Lance taunted.

They stared at each other for a few moments before going back to their coal.

The monotony was broken about three-quarters of the way through the day. Normally Lance enjoyed interruptions, but he could have done without this one.

" _Roof collapsing!_ " He heard a shriek from up the mineshaft.

He stuck his head out, sharing a terrified look with Keith.

Lance suddenly had the impression that he was going to die. It wasn't a fun impression to have.

He could hear the rumbling of the shaft caving in. Hunk picked his way quickly through the rocks over to the pair.

"People are saying there's an explosion on its way. That there's firedamp everywhere and it's only a matter of time before the rocks spark together—" He broke off to sprint in another direction, presumably to warn other people.

Lance looked at Keith.

"Keith," He whispered, "I don't want to die."

Keith stared back at him, looking as petrified as Lance felt. "I don't either."

"I'm sorry we weren't better friends." Lance barely whispered this. He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to say anything at all. But they were going to die anyway.

"I'm sorry too." Lance was surprised by Keith's response. He had expected to be laughed at, to be mocked. He had Keith had been rivals since they'd known each other. They'd made grudging peace over the fact that they were in the same shitty little boat, but there was always an undercurrent of jealousy and dislike running through them.

"I wish I could have known you better." Keith continued, making steady eye contact with Lance. "I wish things didn't end up the way they did."

"I do too."

The silence stretched on. Lance could feel the time ticking away in time with his pounding heart.

"Do you think there's a heaven?"

"I don't know," Keith gasped, looking unable to speak more clearly.

"Because—well, I was thinking. If there is a God then why does He—I mean, why does He allow us to suffer like this? I think—I think that we're innocent, right?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Lance. All we can do is hope that whatever is up there is better than what's down here."

Lance was quiet. "We're closer to hell right now, anyway."

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" They shared a small laugh. It sounded out of place compared to the utter silence around them.

"Keith."

"Yeah?

"Why is it so quiet?'

Keith's eyes went wide. "Lance—"

 _In 1882, two boys were killed in a coal mine explosion, hoping for a better life._

 ** _XXXXX_**

We'd love any comments!


	5. Kaden and Leo

Keith never would have admitted it. It probably would have been bad for business, if anyone had found it. It made him look weak. It was just another thing that Lance would have made fun of him for. But he missed the fine wines of the 1910s.

Well, not fine wines. His wines had never been from France or Italy or even from the Napa Valley—the "Wine Country," Papa called it—or even from the Northeast vineyards. Their wines had been raised and fermented in Missouri, mostly, not that any of the Koganes had complained about the luxury. Keith had always enjoyed the taste and pleasant sensations.

Booze—booze was crap. Maybe in New York City or Chicago or Detroit where the gangs had really heated up, bathtub gin was worth the trouble. But up in Milwaukee, the crap that Keith's friends brewed wasn't worth the pain of getting it. Keith didn't understand how they still had any business at all. But as Pidge had put it, people needed an escape, and Keith guessed that was why their customers kept coming back.

"Earth to Keith!"

Keith snapped to attention as his annoying coworker Lance smirked at him. "Can I help you?"

"Customers are waiting to be served. Of course, I'm sure that your fantasies are much more pleasant, so I'll cover everything if need be."

Keith just sighed. Lance was immature.

"Am I a part of your fantasies?"

Keith ignored his coworker and started serving the people waiting at the bar. The basement that they were working in was dim and dusty and not the best place to work, but it was better than being out of a job completely. Hell, being a bootlegger paid fairly well, and Allura was a fair boss, so Keith wasn't going to complain.

A woman sat down at the far end of the bar, and Keith rushed to serve her. She was one of their best customers, and one of the strangest. As always, she made their signal not for hooch, but for the weed-like drug that they had started to sell as their speakeasy became more of an establishment. People enjoyed smoking it almost as much as they enjoyed their fake alcohol. Keith went to the back and got a small bag for her, and then went back to mixing cocktails. The radio played in the background, tuned into the music that Lance liked. Keith couldn't deny that Lance's music taste was good. As much as he would have liked to.

Things started to quiet down at the bar, and Lance stepped up next to Keith. "A good night, I think."

"Mm."

"Allura'll be happy."

"That's good." When Allura was happy, Shiro was happy, and when Shiro was happy, it was hard not to be happy along with him.

"And our pay'll be good tonight. Are you doing anything afterwards?" Lance asked.

"You mean, in the morning?"

"Sure."

"No," Keith said, trying to get Lance to stop asking stupid questions.

"How's coffee sound?" Lance grinned, ignoring all of Keith's signals. "Unless that's illegal now too."

Keith tried to figure out how to best turn down Lance's offer. "I think that I'm helping Shiro receive a shipment."

"Okay, Mr. No-fun."

"That's an awful nickname," Keith deadpanned.

"Mr. Live-a-little, then. Shiro can deal with it if you're a bit late."

"I don't want to get to know you any better."  
"Alright, that's fair. To be honest, you're a bit of a spoilsport. Actually, a huge ass. But you know, I like to tolerate you. It'll be what saves my soul one day. Like the good book says—"

Keith snorted. "Our souls were damned a long time ago."

"Just 'cause we sling hooch? You got a bad outlook on our lives, don't you, Kogane?" Lance laughed.

"If our good senators think that what we're doing is immoral, than who am I to question them?" Keith said sarcastically.

"It's the pastors, too, I suppose," Lance conceded. "But Shiro, Kogane—Mr. Takashi Shirogane, noble champion of all underpaid workers—is a case of rebirth to become the world's leader if I ever saw one. He's not for hell. And Pidge. Ain't nobody here who can tell me that Pidge or Hunk are the type for hell. They wouldn't last a day."

"And we would?"

"We're strong." Lance punched Keith in the shoulder.

Irritated, Keith stepped away from him. "The point of hell is that everyone breaks at some point, McClain."

"Well, you—"

"Everyone on the ground, now!"  
There were screams from around the room as the door was kicked down and two policemen entered, their guns at the ready. Adrenaline raced through Keith's body as he tried to figure out how to escape. The windows? The doors? But he couldn't just leave his livelihood, his _life_ behind! Besides, people knew who he was! They'd track him down! And Allura and Coran would kill him if he left his post!

 _Calm down!_ Keith dragged in some deep breaths. He couldn't panic now. That wouldn't serve any purpose. He placatingly raised his hands. "Officers, I think that if we—"

"On the ground!"

Keith knew that he couldn't go to the ground, that meant giving up and if he went to trial he'd certainly be indicted, along with his entire crew. Hunk and Pidge, so young and innocent. Allura, who had been desperately working to give them a livable life. Shiro, who had always fought for them, no matter what. Even Coran, who had become like—well, not a father, but an annoying family member that meant the best. Even Keith. His strange shift partner.

"Officers—"

"Don't make me shoot!"

"I don't think there's a reason for you to shoot." Out of the corner of his eye, Keith could see Lance, who had an uncharacteristic expression of terror on his face and in his eyes. "If we could all just calm down—"

And that was when the trigger was pulled.

 _In 1922, two coworkers died together while trying to churn out a living._

 **XXXXX**

 **Due to being out of town, the next two chapters won't be posted until late July. Sorry about that.**


	6. Kenneth and Louis

Lance was going to see a movie and nobody could stop him. Not the barking of people on the streets telling him to enlist, not his mother trying to convince him to help her preserve more tomatoes in case of the apocalypse—nothing.

He would walk down the street, stare at Uncle Sam on the enlistment posters, avoid accusatory eye contact of people who saw him, a strong seventeen year old, as a terrible person for not joining the war effort.

He didn't know why exactly he didn't want to join the war. _Not yet_ , he would tell his mother. He wasn't ready, and that wasn't exactly a lie. Lance was the man of his house now that Father had left, and Ma needed him at home, and so did his multitudes of younger siblings and cousins, and Ma said that the Brits and the Frenchies and the Canadians would all have dealt with the Nazis by the time he got there, and he shouldn't waste his time, in between screaming about how Lance's father was gone forever. Lance couldn't leave her. And anyway...he wasn't ready to die. (He felt like a coward for saying that.)

But damn it all, he was going to see a movie.

 _The Wolfman_ , it was called. Sounded dumb, but Lance needed some dumb horror crap to fill his head instead of the constant pressure of the war.

He entered the theatre, paid for his ticket—prices were up—and found a seat next to a guy. But not an old guy like Lance would have expected. Another teenage boy avoiding the war by seeing a shitty horror film.

Or—Lance squinted at the boy—maybe he had a Section 8. The guy was muttering to himself as they watched the movie; something about fake werewolves and no commitment to a proper plot.

"Can you shut up?" Lance hissed. "Some of us are actually trying to watch the movie."

"I am watching the movie! You're the one talking to me!"

"You're talking to yourself!"

"Shut up! I'm trying to watch the movie!"

"So am I!"

"You shut up!"

"You shut up!"

Ten minutes later, they glared at each other from their seats in the lobby.

"It's your fault we got kicked out of the movie." Lance muttered mulishly.

"My fault! You talked to me first!" The boy glared at him fiercely, crossing his arms

and crushing the sleeves of his leather jacket.

"Yeah, whatever." Lance got up, brushing his jeans off. "See you around."

Two months later, Lance waited nervously as he sat on the train, tugging at his ill-fitting uniform. He was on his way to some war front in France. He knew, deep down that he and his troop were just going as cannon fodder, to fill in gaps while the better, more trained people dealt with the real battles. But he still enlisted, and he was still on his way. Ma had cried and screamed and begged him not to leave. His siblings and cousins had sobbed with half pride along with their fear.

He cast his eyes around the group of people he was with, recognizing no one. Except—he squinted. Was that the guy from the movie theatre?

He pushed his way through the crowd of people over to the black-haired guy sitting in the corner.

"Are you the guy from the movie?"

The guy looked up. "What?"

" _The Wolfman_. That one."

He shook his head. "Sorry, don't remember."

Lance shook his head, frustrated. "Come on, you were muttering to yourself about how shitty the movie was and I go righteously angry at how you were interrupting my movie experience?"

The guy shrugged. "I don't recall that, buddy, but feel free to sit down and tell me about the movie."

Lance squinted at the guy. "I'm Lance."

"Keith." They shook hands. "I do remember that, actually, it's good to know the feeling is mutual."

"What?"

"You know, that you think I'm annoying."

"Ha, ha." Lance slid down onto the floor next to Keith.

They sat in silence as the train rumbled beneath them, rocking gently back and forth. Lance picked at a loose seam in his sleeve.

"So why'd you join up?"

Lance looked up, startled. "Well, I—the war wasn't ending like I thought it would have by now. I figured I may as well just enlist like everyone else I know."

Keith snorted. "Noble."

"Oh shut up. Like your reasoning is any better."

"You got me there." Keith laughed a little bit, leaning his head against the splintered wood wall of the train car.

Again they lapsed into silence.

"I wonder what dying is like," Lance mused.

Keith looked at him amusedly. "That came out of nowhere."

"I mean, you do know we're just going there to die, right? So I was just thinking about what it would be like. I bet it hurts."

"I think it hurts for a bit, then you don't feel anything at all. Maybe you just float away, up to whatever's up in the sky out there. But if it's any comfort to you, we might not even make it to the battlefield."

"What?" Lance turned sharply to meet Keith's eyes properly.

"Yeah." Keith blinked slowly. "You know, the enemy might set up land mines in the tracks. Or we could get shot down by an enemy plane. Or—"

 _In 1943, two boys, just barely friends, were blown up on their way to fight._


	7. Kevin and Lee

The man currently sitting across the booth from Keith was the kind of person that Keith had thought only existed in cartoons that the government put out. The really crazy kind, the kind who'd wear an aluminum foil hat and rant about crazy Soviets. Only, he wasn't ranting about crazy Soviets, he was ranting about the crazy nature spirits that most certainly lived in Deschutes.

Keith wondered just how he had gotten here. He had been rushing down the street to his job at the Bend Board of Tourism, where his boss was expecting to see him. He could have been up for a promotion, which would have meant a lot to him and to his family.

Then, of course, there had been a man about his age rushing in the opposite direction. He had acted as if he had been running away from something, and sure enough, his first words when they had slammed into each other and fallen to the ground were about how the spirits were going to catch him. But his next words had been of apology. He had offered to buy Keith a cup of coffee, and Lance McClain, as he had introduced himself, was so enthusiastic and apologetic that Keith had let himself be dragged along by him.

Keith watched as Lance took a long gulp of coffee. He already acted so manic that Keith didn't think it was a good idea for him to have any more energy in his system. Lance continued talking about how the spirits in the woods had a form of government that was superior to that of the USA, how their economic system was far more primitive but at the same time easier to deal with and less likely to crash, and how the certainty of rebirth in their religion led to more harmony. He was clearly insane, but he spoke with conviction that made him easy to listen to. If he had only become a storyteller rather than a conspiracy theorist, Keith thought that Lance might have made it somewhere in life.

Ah, well.

"You should take creamer in your coffee," Lance babbled once again, "creamer blocks the smell of your blood from the nymphs and then they won't get you when you're in the forest at night."

"You've mentioned that," Keith said, humoring him. "And I don't plan on being in the forest at night."

"Good," Lance said, obviously relieved. "I don't want you to die. You're clearly a nice person. You're listening to me, after all, and that's more than the Bend PD has ever done, or City Hall. Or my parents. Or the state troopers."

 _Oh, dear God,_ Keith thought. _He brought the state troopers into this._ Keith was almost impressed. "It's no trouble," he lied.

"You don't believe me, though."

"No," Keith agreed. "I don't."

"I must sound crazy."

"You do."

"Well, you don't have to say so!"  
"But I did."

Lance seemed to be struck speechless, but then he grinned. It was less insane than it had been. More friendly. And caffeinated. "Why don't you believe me?"  
"Because the idea of spirits is insane. I believe in science."

"Well, how are spirits different from your God?" Lance asked.

"I don't think there's a god. Just science. That seems to be the most logical explanation," Keith explained, tired.

Lance wildly gestured to the sky. "All that space up there, and no room for a single god? Not a little bit of magic?"

"Not in my view," Keith replied dryly.

"But there's no proof that my spirits _don't_ exist," Lance insisted.

"No proof. Except for science."

"You like science, don't you?"

"...yes."

"Come on!" Lance practically shouted. He stood, grabbing Keith's hand, and Keith, shocked, could only follow as Lance dragged him down the street. Keith wasn't used to running so much, and his lungs began to hurt. But Lance was clearly in shape, and Keith had to admire that, as well as be jealous. Lance was taking him somewhere that Keith didn't recognize, and Keith realized that they were leaving Bend altogether for Deschutes National Forest.

It was hard to deny that Deschutes seemed magical. Walking into Deschutes from Bend was like leaving civilization and going make to thousands of years ago, when forests and nature ruled the planet and humans hadn't yet made their domination. The woods were cold and the light was greenish from all of the leaves. As the wind blew through the trees, it made a whispering noise that was unnerving, especially with Lance standing beside him, grinning crazily.

"Do you see it now?"

"The woods are beautiful," Keith agreed, "but we're the only ones here."

"Not true. The dryads are just through those branches, watching us. They'd like to suck you dry of your blood. And the grass spirits are waiting for you to die so they can consume your essence. And the rock spirits want you to trip on them and die so that they can claim your spirit as their prize. The naiads would love to drown you and keep your body as a trophy. And then there's the aliens. They're just getting started out, but my friend the blueberry bush told me that they've been asking for help from the aliens that want to take over the galaxy. It won't be long until we really have an alien problem, and then the spirits will strike."

Amused, Keith asked, "why are all of these spirits obsessed with death?"

"Life is about death," Lance answered. "The most we can hope for is that our reincarnations are good ones."

"So you're…" Keith tried to remember what religions believed in reincarnation, but he couldn' consequences of being an American, born and raised. Besides, Lance was probably just crazy, not a religious man. Reincarnation, nymphs, aliens—all signs of an aluminum hat.

Lance dragged Keith farther into the woods, and Keith noticed that something was wrong. The trees around here were leafless, hot sunshine pouring in from the sky. These trees were dead. They could easily fall. "Lance," Keith began, "we should get out of this area."

"No, no. The dead trees are safer than the live ones. I've hidden in here from the spirits so many times, you wouldn't believe."

"These trees could fall," Keith said.

"They won't. They don't like the other spirits, either. They're obedient to me."

The saddest thing was the utter conviction in Lance's voice. Keith could tell that Lance really believed every word that he was saying. A shame, a real shame. "Come on, Lance. Let's go."

The wind picked up, and the whispers of the leaves got louder. Lance flinched. "Not now. They'll get us. You didn't put creamer in your coffee."

"Lance—" Keith took a few steps forward, but then put his foot through an old root. He tripped to the ground, scraping himself and twisting his ankle pretty badly. "Lance, help me get up."

Lance bent down to help him unstick his shoe. The wind picked up even more, getting to speeds that Keith was very uncomfortable with. "Are we having a storm later today?" he asked.

"Take off your shoe. It's the only way you'll get out. But then you have to stay in the clearing, okay? At least until the trees are done talking. They'll kill you if you interrupt them."

"Lance—"

Lance suddenly stood up. "I'll help you get out when the trees are done talking."

"Lance, help me up!"

"They'll kill you!"

The tree behind them creaked and groaned, but neither of them thought to turn around as they bickered, and so in the end their deaths were the fault of both of them and completely pointless.

 _In 1980 two men died in a freak accident while trying to reach an agreement that would never come._


	8. Kameron and Logan

Lance really hated how cute Keith could look sometimes. The boy hung between goth and punk, and Lance thought that it was kind of lame and mostly ridiculous, but at the same time it was sort of attractive. Especially when he got his hair to fall _just so._

"Stop staring, ass," Keith warned him.

Lance stuck out his tongue. "You're not the boss of me."

"You're so immature."

"Yeah, well—you're my friend, so you can't escape."

Keith scoffed, taking a few steps away and putting in his earbuds. Lance groaned, turning to Shiro. "Shiro, why does Keith hate me so much?"

"Maybe if you didn't antagonize him so much."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do while waiting for the bus?"

"I take it back. It's unresolved sexual tension."

"Hang on, I see Allura. You better go talk to her."

"Shut up—" But Lance had literally shoved Shiro through the crowd.

"Unresolved sexual tension," he chuckled to himself. "Shiro's really lost it this time."

Finally, the bus turned around the corner and came to a halt. Lance climbed on, following Keith. Keith sat down at the back of the bus in his own seat, and simply because Lance enjoyed annoying him, he sat down next to him. When Keith didn't say anything, Lance grabbed one of the earbuds and yanked it out of Keith's ear.

Keith's immediate response was to sock him in the shoulder. "What the hell, man?!"  
Lance put the earbud in his ear. "Panic! At the Disco. Nice."

"Shut the hell up!"  
"No."

They sat in silence, angrily listening to Victorious.

"Hey, did you play this in band at one point?" Lance asked. He found it hilarious that Keith was known as a talented clarinetist in their high school marching band. Keith responded by punching him again.

"You know, I think that Shiro was right. All of this violence towards me—it's your way of expressing that you _want_ me. In all of the worst ways."

"If you start making sex noises, I swear to God—"

"Don't punch me again!" Lance flinched away from Keith's fists. Keith relaxed, standing down, and Lance laughed.

"I guess it's just a side affect of us being the two gay members of our friend group, huh? I mean, I think that's logical. It's like Tumblr says—"

"Don't quote Tumblr at me. And there's nothing going on between us."

"Yeah, I'm not saying that there is. But there doesn't have to be any actual interest between the two of us for their to be Unresolved Sexual Tension. I think that the, um...UST is just a side affect of being in a room with someone who it's possible for you to be attracted to."

"That doesn't make any—" Keith cut himself off, and then let out a small laugh. It had been a while since Lance had heard him laugh, and the small giggle was halfway terrifying and halfway adorable. "Okay. I get it. You need me to say that I think you're sexy, or otherwise you won't have any confidence."

"Did you really have to put it like that? Dick."

"At least my—"

"Don't finish that sentence."

Keith sighed. "For what it's worth, I think that you're not bad. Maybe even...tolerable."  
For some stupid reason, butterflies started flying around in Lance's stomach. _Go away, butterflies._ "Aw. You do love me."

"Shut up!" Keith exploded, going red with anger. "There's nothing here! You're so annoying, I could never find you attractive!"

Lance sat in silence for a moment. But instead of getting sad, he just got angry. "Wow. You're a terrible friend, you know that? And anyway, there's no reason I'd ever like you. You're too much of an asshole."

They glared at each other for a moment before the truck crashed into their bus and everything went dark.

 _In 2015, two sort-of friends died in a bus crash while trying to deal with their feelings._


	9. Keith and Lance

9\. Keith and Lance

"Hey, Lance?"

Lance looked up from staring at his lap. "Yeah?"

"Considering we're trapped on a Galra warship and it's likely that we'll die here, can I tell you something?"

Keith didn't really know why he was doing this, but he was so done. He was done with the bickering, with the friendly or not-so-friendly teasing and mocking. He was done with mixed signals and confusing feelings.

He didn't want to think about how they were both trapped in the belly of some gargantuan ship with little hope of escape. He didn't want to think about how he was trapped with Lance of all people—Lance, with whom Keith had been confused about since day one.

He claimed they were rivals, but Keith never felt one hint of animosity towards him. He fought with him and argued with him and they never worked well together, but Keith always sort of felt that was because Lance had forced a block into their relationship from the beginning.

And he was done. He was done with it all.

"I, um, I don't want to fight with you anymore."

Lance tilted his head. "What do you mean?'

"Like, all the bickering, all the arguing, all the incompatibility—I just want it to stop. I just want us to stop hating each other."

Lance stared at him incredulously. "Wait—all this time you thought I hated you?"

Keith blinked in surprise.

"Maybe I did at first, yeah, out of jealousy and God knows what else. But that ended a long time ago, dude. I was under the impression we've been friends for a while now."

"Oh."

"I also thought we were on the same page about that, but I guess not."

"Uh, yeah." Keith was reeling. All this time they'd been friends? What the hell? When had that happened?

Thinking back on it, Lance was probably right. At some point the venom in their fights had been replaced with teasing affection. At some point the bickering had become more good-natured. How had that happened all without Keith noticing a thing?

"So, Keith?" Keith was startled out of his reverie by Lance's voice and hand in front of him being held out to shake. "Friends?"

Keith smiled softly, shaking Lance's hand. "Friends."

Lance grinned. "Let's go kick some Galra butt together, friend."

"Keith." Lance groaned.

"Lance." Keith groaned back with equal vigor.

"Stop mocking me!"

"I'm not mocking you!"

"Whatever!"

Lance and Keith were back on a Galra warship. Neither of them were surprised that it had happened again.

But things were different now. Things were different because their cell was smaller. They were different because they were friends. They were different because Keith had a gigantic, massive, proportionally impossible crush on Lance. And it's hard to hide a crush of enormous size from someone when you can only be a maximum of two feet away from them.

The crush had crept up on Keith not unlike his friendship with Lance had crept up on him. Unnoticed until someone told him.

Keith shuddered in embarrassment as he remembered the terrible confrontation with Hunk. He called it a confrontation because it felt like a battle or some weird shit. Or a military interrogation.

"So, do you like Lance?" Hunk had casually asked Keith one day when Allura had put them both on kitchen-cleaning detail.

Keith had paused, adjusting his plastic glove. "Uh, yeah, I guess so. We're friends, so I kind of have to."

Hunk had paused after that as well, facing away from Keith. His shoulders started to shake with barely-suppressed laughter. "No—like, as in you _like_ -like him."

Keith frowned. "I'm not following."

Hunk had turned around and put his sudsy hands on Keith's shoulders. "Keith, are you in love with Lance?"

"What? No!" Keith had sputtered. "Why would you ask that?"

Hunk smirked. "Let me back up a bit. How do you feel about Lance flirting with other aliens and Allura?"

"I - I don't know, it's kind of annoying, but—"

"Last time Lance flirted with an alien on the last planet we were at you sulked for a week."

"I did not!" Keith protested.

"Uh, yes you did. Why don't you like him flirting with people?"

Keith shifted in his place on the floor. "Because it's annoying! And none of them are good enough for him, so he shouldn't be wasting his time with them. But you think that too, right?"

Hunk grinned. "Keith, what do you consider a relationship?

"Um. I don't know. Spending a lot of time together, cuddling a lot, kissing too I guess?"

"And how are you and Lance any different from that?" Hunk cut off Keith's protest with a wave of his hand. "Besides the kissing part."

Keith opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"Great." Hunk looked pleased with himself. "Describe your perfect partner."

"What? I can't do that now! Not after what you just said!"

"Humour me."

Keith stumbled on his words. "I guess … uh, tall? Smart? Sarcastic? I don't know, Hunk, why are you making me do this."

Hunk smiled smugly. "Describe Lance for me."

"Um. He's tall, way too sassy, likes the ocean and the color blue and is smart but refuses to accept it." Keith said in one breath, turning red at Hunk's expression, which resembled that of a very excited hamster.

"What? What is it?" Keith screeched.

"How about you put two and two together, Keith. I'm going to go talk to Allura." Hunk had left the kitchen with an extra spring in his step.

Keith seethed in his seat just thinking about the scene. If Hunk hadn't done what he'd done, Keith would be perfectly normal. He wouldn't be stuttering around Lance and turning tomato-red. He wouldn't sprint from the room every time Lance entered it. He certainly wouldn't be feeling completely and totally terrified of being stuck in a three by four foot Galra prison cell with the man himself, Lance.

"Hey Keith?" Lance's voice pulled Keith out of his downward spiral of thoughts. "Do you think we're going to make it out of this?"

Keith opened then closed his mouth. He felt like an asshole. All the while he'd been freaking out about his feelings for Lance, and Lance had been thinking about survival like Keith should have been too.

"I don't know. We kind of got lucky last time." If Keith were to reach out his hand five inches it would be barely touching Lance's. If Lance reached out two inches, they'd be holding hands.

"Yeah." Lance sat in contemplative silence.

If Keith leaned forward a bit and tilted his head just so, he'd be able to kiss Lance on the cheek. If he leaned a bit further he'd be able to kiss his lips.

"If we're going to die, I may as well tell you. I—"

Lance was cut off by the blast of sirens resounding through the ship. With a clang, their cell door sprang open.

Keith and Lance exchanged looks of surprise, then sprinted out.

They ran down halls, twisting and turning around corners and past empty rooms, all the while hearing the deafening screeching of the alarm.

"Lance, what's going on?" Keith asked between breaths.

"I don't know." Lance panted back.

After a few more minutes of running, they found themselves in a basically-empty plane hanger. All the ships and planes there looked abandoned.

Lance and Keith froze in the doorway of the hangar.

"Should we—?" Keith turned to face Lance.

"Yeah." Lance turned to face him too.

They were nose-to-nose, Lance's breath against Keith's cheek, eyes holding contact for much too long to be natural.

"Keith—" Lance breathed.

They broke apart at the sound of doors crashing open. Lance quickly sprang into action.

"I'll go get us a ship of some kind—just wait here. If there are any Galra, you can defend yourself better than I can. I'll be better off running away."

He prepared to run off, but Keith grabbed his arm.

"Wait, Lance."

They both froze.

"We might die out there."

"Yeah, maybe." Lance whispered.

"So…here. A parting gift." Keith quickly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Lance's lips. He smiled. "For good luck."

Lance was completely frozen. Keith's eyes widened. _I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up_.

"Lance?" Keith asked worriedly, all too aware of the fact that they were living on borrowed time.

Lance broke out of his daze, grinning madly. "See you on the other side, babe." He gave Keith another kiss before running down the platform.

Keith put his hands to his lips, smiling. "See you on the other side."

* * *

 **Oof. It's been a while. Apologies for the long break between updates. Thanks so much for reading!**


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